


pre=ciel

by Elisye



Category: Tales of Zestiria
Genre: Gen, M/M, if you have the hymmnos font installed btw you get a double bonus while reading this, literally copy-pastes lyrics because im a sappy cheapo, the ar tonelico and surge concerto crossover that two people and a shoe probably asked for www, this whole fic is just purple all over
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-09
Updated: 2015-12-09
Packaged: 2018-05-05 19:43:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5387927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elisye/pseuds/Elisye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>'In another world - where songs are life, and we sing to create miracles...'</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	pre=ciel

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  QuelI->{   
>  Cls(ethes f ds-b ciol) {   
>  EX[zep]->{ciol f koh};   
>  } am {   
>  EX[teth]->{hymeliya};   
>  Cls(soh hymm) {   
>  EX[irtr]->{hymm f ethes ciol}   
>  }->ExeC->{TzW};   
>  _(A God from a faraway world will descend upon this world, and create an utopia.)_   
>  _(That Song was brought from beyond the stars.)_   
> 

.

The air is scented like sweet dew-touched grass - except, steeped too long in blood and rotten corpses.

Mikleo breathes it in, regardless, wincing as the miasma seeps further into his bones, continues to corrupt what little is left - and presses on, on, on.

He can't give in to it just yet. He has things to do. Still has things to do - at least, one last, final thing to commit himself to. 

So he keeps going, one foot patiently moved forward, the thought like a mantra as he endures everything.

.

His throat is starting to become sore as the days pass, but he tends to it as best as he can.

There are little pockets of resistance in this world, fortunately - places where the malevolence takes longer to blanket itself across the landscape, the purity of the natural world much too concentrated. But from experience, the seraph is well-aware that even those small, quiet places will fail and fall, no matter how safe they seem to be.

He's already seen it first-hand - in a person.

It's that exact thought that keeps him going, a reminder, almost a curse for his memories - it's the one thought he unfailingly has before his magic wavers and fades, before it manages to heal his injuries, his voice closing in on itself because he shouldn't be spending his songs on himself when there are bigger issues here—!

It's the sad thought of what happened, and what will happen, that makes him leave the comfort of these pure places, braving the dark again.

.

_"Hey, Mikleo?"_

_"Hm?"_

_Sorey grins, dazzlingly bright even with just a candle lit for light. The shadows just seem to escape his face instead of contouring it._

_"I love you."_

_The seraph rolls his eyes. "I know that."_

_"No, no. I love you! Really."_

_"I know," he repeats, with a warm smile creeping up on his lips, the first lines of a song coming into formation. "I love you too."_

.

He can't fight on his own. He knows as much, how weak he is without a team to back him up any more.

Before - even before all this - he used to have someone there for him. Someone who he could easily trust his back to. 

But they aren't here any more. As with everyone else - they're gone. Some lost to the miasma, some lost against the miasma. Makes him wonder why he's still here, bothering to stay here, following the spark of a plan that's just too absurd for an unfair world—

But if anything, Mikleo and Sorey were always a bit absurd with their plans. Following fairy tale dreams. Promising each other their hearts, for one shared dream.

So he chews the inside of his mouth, runs from the hellions even as his legs burn from the forced effort - and doesn't, ever, stop.

.

He remembers distantly, about what happened.

It isn't a vague recollection, despite how he'd phrase it - no, it's crystal clear, sharp like a sea of red iron. Even when things back then were so hurried, so muddled together in their rushing speed, Mikleo remembers it all with such a painful clarity.

He especially remembers how Sorey smiled back at him, his grin shaking too much to be reassuring, as Lailah hastily sung to undo the sub-lord contract between the two.

Of course he'd remember that the most, the best. It's the sole reason why he survived the entire thing, while everyone else died or got consumed by the malevolence.

Maybe this is why people often say that death isn't what haunts you as you die - it's life.

.

"'They say that songs are life, and with it, we must sing for the blessings of our great Mother Earth - to grant us happiness'..."

—Sorey's favorite line in the records. It's no wonder that Mikleo can recite it word-for-word, with the exact sort of tones that he'd use. Doing so almost chokes him up in frustration, in sorrow - but he manages to keep his voice leveled throughout, as he slowly, carefully, passes by an open graveyard, filled with cold mounds of dirt and too much miasma floating in the chilled air.

Misery loves company, they say, and this sight proves it perfectly.

(If Sorey were here, he'd be beyond disheartened - and most importantly, he'd ask Mikleo to sing for them. To remind them of the soothing power of songs.

And so, with pragmatic concerns shoved aside - that's exactly what he does.)

.

_"Hey, hey, Mikleo—look at this!"_

_Small hands turned the large book over, pointing at a lovely, detailed sketch of grass and crystal, songstones jagged across its curved landscape._

_"According to the book," Sorey continues excitedly, stars in his eyes, "This is where songs were born! From the Wills of the Planet!"_

_"Singing Hill, right?"_

_The two children peer over the two-spread pages, smiling in their curiosity._

_"Some day, we'll go see it for ourselves, right?"_

_"Of course!"_

.

Singing Hill is a bit of a disappointment, though.

The malevolence is creeping in. Mikleo can sense as much, even with the dense freshness in the air, more than before he's seen, from the fading touches of what he wants to the assume are Wills still residing here. He wants to believe in it, badly - that someone, the Gods, are still here to help him.

That, even if everything's a mess now - everything lost, everyone gone - there's still a way to fix things, somehow.

He just has to believe in it. Needs to, desperately, because what good are fairytales if they don't have a hint of truth to them?

So in prayer - with hope, with all of his heart, he sings—

.

And someone answers, quietly—

.

_"In your earnestness, we shall craft a song for you."_

.

.

Rrha ki ra tie yor ini en nha

Wee ki ra parge yor ar ciel

_(I will initiate your summoning, and bind you there.)  
(I will free you from your only world...)_

.

.

"Mikleo?"

"Hm? Something wrong?"

"Ah, no, just - you have a weird look on your face right now..."

The seraph continues to blink up at the sky, straining his ears for something—

Why?

Something... is slipping from his fingers. A strange, mysterious memory - like a melody. But the more he thinks on it, the more he can't remember what, or why. Eventually, Mikleo closes his eyes, breathes, and then shrugs at Sorey.

"Sorry. It's nothing."

The Shepherd quirks an eyebrow. "Want to talk about it?"

"No."

Mikleo takes one final glance up at the sky, half-heartedly listening again, like a reflexive habit - but only for a moment. As if he'd hear anything from beyond the sky itself—that's just being silly now. Right? "It's nothing, really. Just thought I was hearing things..."

"If you're sure." The brunet doesn't look too reassured at that, even so - but grins anyway, as something else comes to mind. "Lets catch up with Lailah and the others. Can't let them wait around forever, you know?"

"Yeah." He smiles, a bit amused. "Lets get going."

.


End file.
